


Vacationing and other adventures

by AK_Sushi



Series: ApocaAgain universe [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, No Beta, Rating for swearing btw, Summoning, Vacation in Germany, catholic priests
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-23 20:09:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21325960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AK_Sushi/pseuds/AK_Sushi
Summary: After the failed second Armageddon, Beelzebub had told them that they would travel the world. Crowley felt a pang of pity towards the humans subjected to the prince of Hell on their journey of self-discovery.But one day he and Aziraphale were surprised by an invitation by the lord of the flies. And they were... making cheese?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: ApocaAgain universe [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1537420
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	Vacationing and other adventures

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to 'Feathers, books and peaches - or on the nature of free will', but you don't need to read it to get this story!!  
Here's a quick synopsis of the background:  
Heaven and Hell planned a second Armageddon, Beelzebub developed a conscience and warned them, and afterwards decided to travel Earth.  
Also, this was supposed to be short... which obviously didn't happen lol  
But whatever! Have fun!
> 
> This also got a bit away from me, so you get some chapters.

It was a hot humid summer day. The air was so thick with moisture that you could have cut it with a sufficiently sharp knife and carry it around. Crowley lounged in the shadow of an old oak on a bench with flaky white paint. He watched the dirt path up to their cottage as the postwoman was biking up, hair plastered to her head and her light blue uniform shirt drenched in sweat. She leaned her bike against the white fence, but even before she could even open her heavy bag full of paper Aziraphale puttered out of the front door, a tall glass of lemonade in his hand. The humidity immediately clung to the ice-cold glass and drops of condensation formed on the surface. The postwoman gratefully took the drink and chatted with Aziraphale in between big gulps of it.  
After she handed the empty glass back she started to rifle through her bag and handed a stack of various letters to Aziraphale. With another thanks for the drink on her lips she bid her goodbye making sure to also wave to the demon sitting on the bench in their garden who gave a curt wave back.  
Aziraphale walked to the bench and sat down beside Crowley.  
‘Ad, ad, oh, the newsletter!’ Aziraphale chattered about his contact into estate sales and book auctions and handed the rest of the letters to Crowley who immediately took interest in a black envelope poking out of the pile. The silken paper slightly reflected the sun peeking through the leaves of the oak and felt very expensive. No return address or stamp were to be seen, but in the front of the envelope in glittery silver ink was written ‘Demon Crowley and Angel Aziraphale, Cottage, South Downs, England’.  
‘A bit Harry-Potter-y,’ Crowley mumbled under his breath.  
He did not even need to look at the deep red wax, stamped with a sigil, sealing the envelope, to know who this script belongs to. He had seen enough assignments and assessments before printers were invented to recognize this handwriting anytime.  
He broke the wax seal on the back and turned around the envelope. Three pieces of paper fell out.  
‘Oh, what’s this?’ the angel inquired.  
Crowley picked the first piece of paper that had fallen out, turning it around in his grip.  
‘Seems like a ticket? British airways. And a reservation for a hotel. In Germany.’  
‘Oh, a vacation? But who did us the honor?’  
Crowley had put the tickets in a neat pile in between them on the bench and twirled the envelope in his hand.  
‘Beelzebub.’

Two weeks later the tires of a rental car were screeching along the road of the federal highway. Aziraphale was gripping the door handle and the seat tightly, knuckles white, as the car was overtaking a small white Golf dangerously close to a curve. He waved the driver of the golf in apology who was just rolling his eyes, feeling vindicated in his prejudices about BMW drivers.  
'Turn left in 300 meters,' the robotic voice of Crowley’s phone told, and the demon just in time wrenched the wheel around, managing to pass through the too small gap in between a lorry and the Seat behind it.  
'That’ll teach ‘em about proper safety distance!', the demon hollered, pointedly ignoring the double standard.  
'Continue the road for 2 kilometers,' the phone toned again, while they flew down the road, farming landscapes interrupted by the trees at the side of the road flew by the windows.

Just a couple minutes later Aziraphale stumbled out of the car, thanking the ground for its continued existence and the Almighty for not being discorporated. They had pulled up in front of a small hotel. It was an old building – half-timbered, with a thatched roof and well-kept. While Crowley dealt with their luggage, Aziraphale walked up the wooden steps framed with pots full of geranium and through the front door into the lobby. A woman, no older than thirty, sat up straight and looked at the new guest.  
'Good day,' she greeted in standard German.  
'Hello, my dear,' he greeted back with a smile and an endearing British accent coloring the German words. While he was digging out the reservations, Crowley carried their luggage inside.  
'Moin,' he nodded towards the woman, who crooked an eyebrow at the, for this part of the country, unusual greeting. A bemused smile befell her, but before she could think of a smart retort the angel held out a piece of paper towards her.  
‘We have a reservation under the name ‘Crowley’, my dear.’  
She took the paper in her hands and typed on her computer. After a short while she nodded and took a keycard from somewhere from the view of the pair.  
'Sure. Housekeeping is already done, so you can just follow me.'  
She waved towards the two to follow her to the elevator. After the doors closed she started, 'Breakfast is from six to ten in the restaurant on the ground floor. Hope the room’s up to your liking.'  
'I’m sure it will be fine, dear girl.'  
The receptionist wrinkled her nose, while contemplating whether to be offended at the endearment, but decided against it. She concluded, since he was sharing a couple’s room with another man, that he was harmless. This sir was probably just like her grandfather, a tad old-fashioned, always an endearment on his lips.  
After instructing the two of them on how to use the keycard and informing them that they need to leave before noon on the day they leave she left to get back to the reception, wondering if she had answered her last text before the two gentlemen came in.

After they had seen to their luggage and adequately appraised their room, demon and angel decided to take a walk through the village Beelzebub had gifted them a trip to. Aziraphale nodded to the receptionist who quickly put down her phone. She informed the two of them that the main door will be locked by midnight, but they could unlock the side door on the left. The angel nodded and then the two of them were outside.  
The humidity was lower here than on the southern coast of the UK where everything was aching for rain. It still wasn’t pleasant for anything that relied on sweat to regulate temperature, but it was a bit more bearable. The tractors driving through wheat fields raised up big clouds of dust and the sun was beating down, no cloud daring to make up an appearance. Most lawns were burned but people were still mulling around outside. The village they were invited to was the very definition of quaint. Many half-timbered houses with thatched roofs were lining the one road going through the village. A sign post told them about a small museum on the history of the place, a walkway through a nature reserve for nesting birds, the church (catholic) plus graveyard and an old, family-owned, cheese making company. Some ways down the road a sign for a supermarket was seen, as well as a bar which tried really hard to make it as a restaurant.  
'Well, this is a quite cute place,' Aziraphale wondered, 'I wonder why Beelzebub has invited us here?'  
Crowley shrugged, 'Eh, we’ll find out soon ‘nuff, I guess.'  
'I suppose so,' the angel hummed, 'Let’s see what kind of restaurant this is.'  
'Sure, angel.'  
The pair walked down the sidewalk towards the beaten tables and chairs in front of tall windows. Some people were sitting outside, taking in a late lunch or an early beer. Two patrons were sitting at a round table, cups of something in front of them, both of them dressed in black. The person who was turned with their front towards the approaching demon and angel had scraggly, unkempt hair and a relaxed facial expression which looked like they had bit into one exceptional sour lemon. When they recognized the two who walked towards them, they gave a nudge towards the man in front of them and waved.  
The other one at the table stood up and scooted two more chairs towards the table they had occupied. While he was adjusting furniture, Aziraphale took a close look at him. He had short, silver-gray hair and a face marked with deep creases running along crow’s feet and laugh lines. His eyes were a clear hazel, and he wore the robes of catholic clergy.  
Beelzebub’s eyes flicked between the two supernatural beings in front of them and muttered, a tad disbelieving, 'You came.'  
Aziraphale tore away his eyes from the clergymen in front of him and turned toward the prince to say, 'Of course we did, why wouldn’t we?'  
Beelzebub shrugged.  
'I can think of many reasonzzz,' they said, then shook their head and motioned to the human who had rearranged the chairs and now sat right next to them, 'Thizz izz pazz-, pazzzztor Becker,' the buzzing of their voice clear around the title of the clergy, 'Becker, thezze are Crowley and Azziraphale.'  
'Ah, pleasure to meet you! Beele had told me a bit about you two.'  
'Beele?' Crowley’s eyes crinkled in clear amusement.  
'Be zzilent, I wazz put on the zzpot.'  
Aziraphale cleared his throat and addressed the pastor, 'Well, I hope that they painted a flattering picture about us!'  
Becker smiled gently. He looked at Beelzebub who tried to twist their face into a sneer, but landed mostly at displeased.  
'Well, they mostly made you two out to be two very interesting people,' Becker explained, barely suppressing a grin, 'Why don’t you sit down? Bastian creates some exceptional cakes and coffees… although I have no idea if his tea holds up to English standards.'  
After they had explained their order – black coffee, some cake you can recommend?, and some tea – Becker walked inside the building, leaving the three non-human beings outside.  
Crowley leaned forward and stared at his former boss through dark glasses. Cocking his head and with a light smirk he addressed Beelzebub, 'So, tempting the clergy? A classic, I have to say. Although he will be a tough one – nothing you won’t be able to handle, of course.'  
A scathing glance of the prince caused Crowley to flinch in his seat. He raised his hands in a soothing gesture and said, 'Listen, it was just some banter, I did’n-'  
'Zzhut up, Crowley,' Beelzebub sneered.  
Crowley, whose self preservation instinct was still going strong, immediately followed the order, while Aziraphale silently followed the exchange. He recognized both the tone which Crowley used to accuse Beelzebub of a temptation and also the hurt expression in the prince’s face. He put his hand on Crowley’s, giving a small squeeze to assure that everything was alright and cleared his throat.  
'So, Beelzebub,' Aziraphale floundered for a topic, 'Uh, what, I mean, how did you get to such a small village?'  
'Dezzided to check out the Mellnkase, and found a brochure about a farm making chezzee the traditional way. Dezzided to check it out.'  
While the prince was answering Becker came back with a slice of rhubarb cake, a coffee and dog rose tea. He gave an apologetic shrug to Aziraphale and said, 'It was the only one they had, sorry.'  
Aziraphale smiled one of his disarming angelic smiles, 'It’s alright, thank you.'  
The angel and the pastor were talking to each other like one would have expected two religious authorities to talk. Occasionally Aziraphale stumbled when it came about the demonic nature of their two acquaintances, but managed to correct himself readily enough.  
Beelzebub leaned back in their chair and stared at Crowley, who crooked an eyebrow.  
'I’m not going to apologize'  
'Well, I hope not. Otherwizze I would need to write a reprimand'  
Crowley smirked and resumed watching his angel chattering with the human pastor.  
The afternoon slowly turned to evening and the two eating parties, human and angel, turned to order something to eat.  
'Oh, you have to try the butcher’s platter- the Klein’s love to show their skill.'  
The two were eating and complementing the various traditional preparations of meat. Crowley took it up onto himself to taste all the German red wines the building had in stock. Beelzebub had some dreadfully, sickly sweet cocktail.  
'So,' Crowley said, 'so. Y’re not tempting him.'  
He took a sip from his glass of red wine, something medium expensive from the Rhine, great growth after the last climate change tortured summer last year. It was okay, maybe bordering on good.  
Beelzebub buzzed into the barely liquid sugar-alcohol-mixture which called itself cocktail.  
'Do you zztill tempt, Crowley?'  
They were avoiding the topic, he realized, but decided to not press.  
'Maybe? I still do some things to annoy people, or whisper an idea here and there,' he said, 'and lot’s of things to cause annoyance.'  
They nodded as they took another sip.  
Any further questioning was interrupted by Becker, who said, ‘Well! I have to get back home. It was nice to talk to somebody who can appreciate foods outside the one’s containing, frankly, ridiculous amounts of sugar.’  
Beelzebub poked out their tongue. Crowley thought that he lost his mind. Becker grinned at Aziraphale and shook the angel’s hand.  
‘I hope you stay a while?’ he asked.  
‘Two weeks, at least,’ Aziraphale answered, shaking the pastor’s hand.  
The three supernatural beings sat in silence for a bit. The crickets’ sound sounded across the evening air. The sun painted her colors across the sky and a waitress walked by, lighting the candle on the tables. She smiled as she gathered up the cups and dishes.  
It’s peaceful, Aziraphale thought.  
‘So, Beelzebub, why did you invite us?’ he asked.  
Beelzebub didn’t answer at first, instead they leaned back and kicked out their leg.  
A bird fluttered past. The soft chatter of the people two tables over filled the silence. Warm light and laughter spilled out from the inside of the building.  
Beelzebub stared into the air and mumbled, barely hearable over the sounds of the evening, ‘I wanted to share this with you.’  
They suddenly got up and stormed off, sparing no glance to the two beings left behind.  
Crowley nudged Aziraphale and said, ‘Come, let’s get back to the hotel.’  
Aziraphale nodded.

The next day was just as cloudless and sunny as the day before. When they stepped out after breakfast Beelzebub was already standing on the path from the hotel. They leaned at the brick wall, arms crossed in front of them.  
The two walked down the stairs.  
Beelzebub looked at the two and gave a curt nod.  
‘Follow me,’ they buzzed and started walking, Crowley and Aziraphale following quickly.  
‘So, what were you up to in the last year, my dear?’ Aziraphale asked when they caught up to them.  
Beelzebub buzzed puzzled at the term of endearment and answered, ‘Traveled a lot. Firzzt to Zzweden, they have zzomething called ‘Surströmming’, it’zz zzome type of fermented fish.’  
Aziraphale rankled his nose, ‘Oh I remember that one. I came across it - I think it was 1796. Smelled dreadful.’  
‘I know, rotting and putrid, it’zz nice,’ they said as their frown twitched in amusement at the angel’s outrage.  
Aziraphale cleared his throat and waffled around, ‘Well, I guess it’s an acquired taste.’  
They walked next to the main street. The waitress at the café/restaurant they had dined in yesterday gave a wave towards the group and Beelzebub waved back. The three had to stop on their way through the village now and then as some of the residents struck up some small talk with the lord of Hell.  
‘Well, seems that you're popular,’ Crowley commented after an old lady who had greeted them and talked a bit about her cat walked off.  
Beelzebub shrugged and said, ‘They didn’t at firzzt, but they truzzt Becker and hizz judgement.’  
‘Where are we walking to, by the way?’ Crowley asked.  
‘The place I work. The cheezze making company.’  
Aziraphale and Crowley asked at the same time ‘You make cheese?’ ‘You work?’ respectively.  
They turned around a corner and started to walk up to a store built out of red bricks. A big building could be seen behind it. A silver-polished tank lorry sat idling in the parking area next to it. The driver stood outside, smoking.  
To say that Crowley was baffled was an understatement. He did know that Beelzebub had a change of heart since they had warned them from the planned second armageddon, but that the feared prince of Hell, who tortured demons and ate them for breakfast started working as a cheesemaker left him in a daze.  
They walked through the door of the store front. Inside a couple of tables and chairs were next to the window. The floor was tiled in white, as were the walls. Behind the refrigerated display case full of different cheeses a heavy-set woman stood. She smiled as she looked up.  
‘Beele, you’re late!’ she bellowed laughingly. When she registered the two beings behind them she added, ‘Ah, are these two your friends?’  
‘We’re not friendzz,’ Beelzebub said, ‘Crowley, Azziraphale, thizz izz Anna.’  
Anna walked around the counter and shook their hands.  
‘Anna Seidel, daughter of Hans Seidel, owner of this humble little company.’  
‘Pleased to meet you,’ Aziraphale greeted back and cleared up, ‘I’m Aziraphale and this is my husband Crowley.’  
‘’sup,’ Crowley just said.  
‘Don’t be so talkative,’ she joked and walked back to the counter, ‘Beele has talked about you visiting. My dad will give you the full tour. Do you want a quick overview about our family business’ history?’  
Aziraphale and Crowley spent the rest of the morning until lunch in the business, getting a throughout history lesson and tour. Lunch was spent sitting on the wobbly chairs tasting all the cheeses the Seidels produced, bread and grapes.  
‘Oh, this is delightful,’ Aziraphale commented on a piece of aged hard cheese, deep yellow in color and fragrant.  
‘Crowley, we have to remember this place,’ he said, turning towards the demon sipping on a glass of water.  
‘Sure, angel.’  
The owner of the company was delighted at the glowing endorsement.

Later in the day the two beings strolled back through the village. Beelzebub had stayed behind for their work and Aziraphale had expressed interest in the museum.  
They walked arm in arm, Aziraphale talking excitedly about the flavours of the foods he had tasted. Crowley listened to the voice of his angel, feeling the sun on his back and the warmth of Aziraphale’s arms hooked into his. The earlier confusion about Beelzebub’s… profession had dissipated. They had talked about their fascination how humanity managed to understand and wield rot to their advantage - fermentation of microorganisms to create food and even medicine.  
They just got back to the village proper when Aziraphale suddenly disappeared.


End file.
